


Does he remember me?

by wilhelms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9351302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilhelms/pseuds/wilhelms
Summary: Mycroft comes to visit Euros.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this a chance.   
> I´m sorry for all the mistakes in the text, I´m not a native speaker.   
> Comments are welcome.

He was 12 when they took her away, a child of innocent face, but a devilish mind. "Little devil" he used to call her, perhaps since he could remember. She always screamed so much when she was a baby, his mother could barely sleep, even he could barely sleep and no matter how loving his parents could be, even they could not give her the affection a normal child would deserve. Euros was .... different, too different to comprehent, too different to fit in. She knew too much, way too much and Mycroft, he was not much of a help. 

Mycroft had no idea how to interact with children his age, with children younger than his age or older than his age. He was a definition of a loner. Books, complicated mathematics, his mother´s study room, those were things he needed, not a sister, not a brother. He often watched Sherlock play, Sherlock was the normal child, normal meant an idiot according to Mycroft´s 12-years old logic, but perhaps such a diminutive word had to be used, because he was sincerely jealous. Sherlock was a sweet boy, angelic auburn curls, sea-blue eyes. Euros took after their mother, a precious little thing, every mother´s dream. A daughter whose hair you could plaid, who you could dress into pinky dresses. Her mind as sharp as a knife, until they discovered that she was ill.   
He remembered that day when his 5 years old sister cut her arms open just to see her muscles, how they found her bleeding and she didn´t even blink an eye. Mycroft was horrified, he run away as a coward, his parents picked her up took her to doctors. Everyone said, it is just a child´s play, no one is a psychopath at the age of 5. It was not possible, such illnesses were to appear at older age, but once Euros burnt the house, once Euros killed his brother´s best friend, nothing made sense anymore, no logic mattered. 

Uncle Rudy came and took her. He was thin, tall and all in all a prototype of Count Olaf. Mycroft hated him, due to his childish reasons, but all he knew about him was that he was his mother´s brother, rich and strange with a devilish look. He was a doctor, possibly a psychiatrist as Mycroft concluded and apparently he knew what to do. Somehow, he had no idea how his parents managed to put that history aside. They were as cheerful as ever. Sherlock became the apple of his parents´ eye. He was the closest to his mother, she loved him for his tender heart, for his brain, perhaps the only normal of them all. His father on the other hand became a gentle, yet a distant figure. Often it felt as if he was not a part of the family at all. 

And Mycroft? Well, he was a boarder since the age of 10 anyway and since that summer he was home rarely. 

But time went on and soon Mycroft was about to graduate. As it happens one happiness is followed by another tragedy. Mycroft, barely being 18 was met with a new responsibility. His sister. His uncle was dying of cancer. What a surprise, Mycroft remarked after realising his uncle probably spent all his days smoking cigarettes with his psychotic or catatonic patients. What a life. 

The second day he went to Cambridge, he was sent for by Uncle Rudy to be handed the documents. Mycroft was puzzled as why him, why not his parents. "Well, my sister... she is rather of a fragile nature, you see a fragile sex was not be trusted." A man that got stuck somewhere between Nietze and Froid, definitely, but Mycroft did not say a thing, perhaps realizing that his mother had her hands full with Sherlock having to be homeschooled and his father going through the middle-age crisis. 

He accepted that burden without knowing what to do. A simple nod changed his life and what changed his life even more was when he was actually taken to that place. Hell, that was what he saw. He was sure of how he would define that phantasmagoric place. Sherrinford. The 18-years old shivered in that boat, despite the fact that the captain told him how lucky he was that it was actually sunny, that the Irish Sea was rarely so gentle to anyone. Mycroft nodded and tried to smile, a polite thing to do, right? But no one was gentle to her, no one and nothing. 

The twelve yeras old girl with brown hair and sea-blue eyes. He was curious to see her, that weird kind of curiosity a scientific man feels when he is about to examine an object, but perhaps there was also a human side to it. Mycroft was scared, he was still haunted by what she did. He was still haunted that when he was 12, he knew a boy was killed and no one knew how, but everyone knew he was and everyone knew who did it and it was his own little sister, his own little sister, that wanted to kill his precious little borther. The one that was drawing pictures of his grave. 

At 12, Euros was pale, as she rarely saw the natural sun and looked quite sickly thanks to it. Her eyes, still bright blue resembled Sherlock´s a little less than when they were children, perhaps growing up without him gave them a sense of individuality or growing without their mother gave them a distance, they had no one to model by. Her hair darker than what he remembered and thinner than they would be. She was a gil of macabre looks, someone who rarely resembled a human. 

First, they just stared at each other. Even though, Euros knew who he was, she could not help herself and be a tiny bit surprised. She knew that day would come. She knew it, by the fact that she had the chance to watch Mycroft when he was a mere child, if he had ever been one. He was serious, responsible, he wasn´t babied, he wasn´t given the freedom of being unwise, silly, jolly child. He had to be the one to do the best, the one that was never allowed to fail. Perhaps, time flew a bit quicker than she had calculated? Perhaps unlce Rudy was dying faster. 

"Sister" he spoke first. He kept his distance, more than three feet away.   
"You are scared" she smirked. She noticed, she was fast. Five feet away from him. His hands woodily by his body, his knees straight, he looked as if he had a pencil between his ass cheeks. Straight, trying to be brave, scared young man.   
"Why would I?" he asked, taking a step futher.   
"Because I´m dangerous and I´m good at being dangerous, brother mine. Because my look scare you, because you know I´m better than you and I can do whatever I want."   
Her smile might grow a tiny bit wilder. She had a mesmerizing effect. It was like losing your mind. The thing about Euros was, she wasn´t really a supernatural creature, she was merely a little girl, but her power was, she knew no pain, no feelings. She was good with observations, her eye sight was exceptional and while you were polishing your coat, she was able to see the cat´s hairs, the sudden sadness and heartbreak some soft adults had for her and she was able to use it for her advantage. What she was doing was just saying the right things in the right time. She knew how to break people, she had enough pets, her nurses, doctors, guards and housekeepers. She was able to see a desperate mother barely hanging there and she was able to trigger her depression by what the victim imagined was a true consciousness. Oh well, she was so good.   
But Miycroft was good. He was quick, not as quick as her, but he understood what she was doing. Well trained he was, he did the same to his brother. He trained him to see, he trained him to feel, he trained him to never let feelings cloud his judgement. The Holmes boys were better than that, trained right from the start.   
"I´m not sure that you can do whatever you want in prison, but I can, I can make it better. I can help you." Well, no one could judge him, he did try.   
"Prison? Are you sure, you aren´t ? What is prison really? Wait a moment, are you a Bentham? They give me clever books here too. Much better than school anyway." she giggled. A sound that no longer resembled the little girl he remembered.   
"Tell me Mycroft HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE FREE? HOW DOES IT FEEL TO KEEP YOUR SISTER LOCKED?" her voice was strong, she was screaming at him, his eyes grew big, he had no idea this was coming. He has read about schizophrenic patients, about asylums, the horror stories about the Victorian asylums taught him a lot, but that sudden fear, that manic laugh.   
The guard were quickly in, she stopped, her hands in air. Mycroft put his hands up as well, in his defense, in hers. "it is alright, it is alright." what scared him even more was that there were four big men running to his sister. Four big men against such a tiny small figure and uncle Rudy behind them. "I thought I could trust you, but apparently you are still a child. You need to hold her tight" he smiled at the girl, his smile quite disgusting, thanks God he was dying, said Mycroft to himself.   
And yet, when he was leaving, he turned his head at her. "I will come back." he said.   
She smiled, no he wouldn´t, such an idiot.   
But he did, next time it was her birthday and the gifts and treats begun. 

She was 13 at that time, with bandages on her hands. She wondered, perhaps, how long of scratching would it take to actually feel something? The blood was running, but she did not feel anything. She was just staring at it, feeling fascinated. She was human after all. They had to cut off her nails so that she barely had any, they kept her hands in gloves and bandages. Euros laughed, who would stratch my back, Miss? Will you? Who will help me eat? Will you? Chew it for me, nah, swallow that shit that you are cooking. She would manipulate them for fun.   
For six years, no one came to her, but this time, someone did. Mycroft came. It was only three months later, but he already seemed more confident, Cambridge gave him life. He was a president of the gentlemen´s club, he was even regarded highly by his peers, he wasn´t bullied by them, actually some people were happy about his existance. 

"Hello, sister mine"   
She said nothing. Why did he come? What did he want?   
"I thought" he cought. "maybe you would be interested in studying chemistry with me?"  
"That would be too easy, wouldn´t that? Considering your level of stupidity, brother"   
She tried it, again. Her brother hated being called stupid, he hated to be ordinary, just because his intelligence was what was saving him in life. He wasn´t handsome, he wasn´t a very good speaker, outstanding friend, a social butterfly, a potentially good boyfriend, husband, father, whoever. His intelligence was the purpose of life. It was everything what he was, but she could not get to him, because she knew..... as much as she wished, Mycroft was not stupid and he was the only one that came.   
"I promise, you can solve the hardest ones. Oh and happy birthday."   
He send her the chemistry books. The exercises she managed to solve in 20 minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hell exists and we are living in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your time! I hope you will enjoy it.   
> And also a lil tribute to Manic Street Preachers!

The chemistry book did not last long. He should have known that once she was bored with it, she would throw it away, away at someone´s head. Of course that would cause less damage than let´s say stabbing a knife in a nurse´s hand when she was eating. 

Perhaps he managed to keep her entertained for a moment, perhaps he managed to remind her she was human. She had family, oh family, yes that left her, a family that didn´t bother to come to visit. Parents that would rather pretend that she had never existed. Was that kind of thinking, a proof that she was after all human? The solution was easy, just don´t have feelings, forget them as they have forgotten you, but then what would occupy her mind if not her imagination? If not an imagination of what was Mycroft doing at his fancy university and what was Sherlock doing, being homeschooled by her mummy and now probably being sent to an expensive boarding school for gifted children?

What would she do? And that was her day. The craziness that was her mind creating scenarios just to entertain herself, the world that she pretended to be a part of. 14-years old without make up, without her first kiss, without friends, without any favourite music. All she knew were memories of violin, all she knew was just that stupid relaxation music the hippie docs have tried on her. She would scream and smash their players, because when you are crazy and everyone expects you to be crazy, why not actually have fun with it? 

People became her obsession. One would expects that no one was allowed, oh boy, wish they knew. Cleaning ladies, nurses, doctors, those who treated her and those who wished to write their thesises about her. What a case! A child murderer! She was sure even Mycroft shared their curiosity, at least partly. He came that year once again because he was studying a psychology course, he asked her couple of questions, she answered with a smirk on her mouth. 

"Are you pursuing a career in that?" she asked.   
"Nah, just determined to get the best grade" 

They actually managed to have a laugh about it. She did and it was the first time he saw her smile. She was so pretty, he thought, and that realisation, the fact that his sister would not ever have normalcy killed him a little bit. What if he could give her that sort of normalcy? But then he remembered the book, the hurt nurses, the doctors who would come in with their hippie ideas and smiley faces, just to later say they wondered for months whether they should kill themselves or not. 

The thing with Euros was, what Mycroft (and later Sherlock) could do was deducing something from evidence (clothes, body language, knowledge of the place, logic) she could do quicker, she could do just by basically glancing at a person. She knew how to trick, what to say, how to get a reaction. Hardly ever she would be wrong, so she ALWAYS knew things quicker. She could see ways when the others could not, where others involved their emotions, their intuition, she would avoid it and therefore could see clearly. 

Now, it was time for Mycroft to come. He called the prison (hospital) to announce his visit and it was clear by the way the workers treated her. She was moved to a bigger cell, cleaner, more modern. The whole place was spotless, everyone was spotless. It was obvious her brother, just 19, knew how to make an impression. Sure, Mycroft, the son of the Holmes, while not the richest, still considerably rich family with a stable name, was a prodigy child and now a prodigy adult. Mycroft, the Unlucky, who inherited Sherrinford from his mother´s brother Rudolf and was now graduating with two honours BA. She had to admit it was amusing how everyone was on their toes, dancing to please a teenager, but oh well, what was that? A feeling of pride? 

Mycroft came in, dressed smartly as always, this time a sweater with shirt, white as snow, his trousers ironed to perfection and shoes polished so they were shining. He brought her a gift. "After all a visitor should always bring a gift, shouldn´t he?" he smiled. 

She said nothing, so he asked the guard to open the cell. (note: It still looked like a cage, there was no glass, this was in 1994).  
She opened the beg carefully, this time calmly because they gave her extra sedatives, just to impress Mr. Holmes. In the beg, there were clothes, jeans, t-shirt and a hoodie. "So that you can be down with the kids." he smiled. 

"What is that band? Why does it say "Bomb London".   
"Oh, Manic Street Preachers, they are a hit. Their guitarist just disappeared, funny fella. He cut 4real into his arm, wasn´t he just dramatic?"   
"Oh, Mycroft, you know how to please me."


	3. Help me to find him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter takes places when Sherlock is 17 and Mycroft 24. Sherlock´s first big disappearance act and first big experiment drives Mycroft crazy and he seeks his sister for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for giving me a chance :).   
> Also, I know the official spelling of "Euros" is "Eurus" but I started writing it before tumblr was filled with posts of the offical spelling, so I´m sorry for it, but I have decided to stick with "Euros" because I´m so used to it, oh the european currency :D.

The horror had to be seen on his face. He tried hard, his best, even Mycroft-best, which was always much better than most people´s. Yet, he could not hide it. 

Perhaps, the idea of seeing Euros this time was a bad idea, but he had nowhere else to go, no one else to ask for help, no one else to confide to. It was the first time when Sherlock has done it, the first time it went so bad. Usually his "experiments" were under control. At least he hoped so, at least he usually got to find out about them later on, after he was clean and sober. The calls from school, the beggings of him and of his parents. Mycroft at that time was done with unversity, young, bright, ambitious and tremendously successful. He could have pointed at any professon and it would be his. He chose the highest of course, but despite his ego, he hated the field work, he hated to be seen and mysteries always attracted his heart. He wished to stay in the invisible shadows and when others turned their back from the dirty work, Mycroft would take their place and he was good, brilliant even at doing that. Discrete, hard-working, "if only that young man had a heart" they said, but soon they learned their place. Those who at the beginning were able to laugh behind his back were now silenced by his perfectionalism and by the fact that he was able to rise to power without any big fuss, without even trying. 

But right, here was Sherlock. In his last year of studies before he was off to university. Seventeen and brilliant without even trying. A chemist to bone. But where was the chemist hiding now? 

He drove around Cambridge, the potentionally favourite place of Sherlock (they went to visit it in early autumn and Sherlock despite not wanting to admit that fell in love with the institution that offered him so much, even could offer him a feeling of failure, which according to Mycroft would be a nice change, because while Mycroft was really bad at sports and suffered through it, Sherlock was decent at everything). Sherlock wasn´t at Harrow, Sherlock wasn´t home and Mycroft knew about one or two acquitances that might have known where he was but either Mycroft at that point was yet to develope his interviewing skill or they really had no idea where the auburn haired trouble maker was. 

Mycroft knew one thing, this was not about being rebellious. Sherlock was not any sort of young punk running the streets just for the hell of it. He even didn´t manage to finish the Cather in the Rye without throwing it away with the words of "that is some whiney piece of shite". 

But she, she knew everything despite being there, right? If he only gave her clues, she would know, she would tell. So he came, he came to his sister to beg her to save his brother, their brother. 

And as soon as she saw him, she knew that the beam of balance was on her side. She was the one that is going to be important, she is the one who can manipulate Mycroft now and it wasn´t very often that she got a chance to do so. 

"Brother dearest" she greated him with a smile. Eighteen years old and gorgeous as ever, long brown hair and pierce-blue eyes (a great mixture of Sherlock´s and Mycroft´s, less green and less grey than her brother´s). Her smile meant danger as poetic as it might sound. She was going to get her way, but Mycroft at that time was willing to pay that price. 

"Sister dearest" oh poor boy, he tried so hard. 

"you seem a bit weary" she remarked, a bit unnecessary remark if we were honest. Mycroft either was very worried or not worried at all. 

"no, no before you say something, don´t tell me, because I want to have fun with it. it is not mummy, you would not come, the sentiment you feel for her would not allow you, you know I do not care, if it was papa, well that would be a bit harsher on me, but not you. he always had a soft spot for me as the only girl, but nah do they even know where am I? would they care? would you care to elaborate? there is only one person you care the most... your little brother, Sherly" she smiled softly. sometimes she could not help to wonder what was he up to, but then what would such a prodigy be up to ? anything else than studying at a prestigous public school and ironing his uniform? he was a Holmes after all. 

Mycroft noticed that she used the adjective your rather than our, but he said nothing. Sherlock always meant more than the other one for both of them. For her, as a sibling that was only a year younger and neglected her and for him as a sibling he wished to protect. Sherlock, in Mycroft´s eyes was still that little boy who lost his best friend, killed by his little sister. Mycroft´s feelings for Euros were always mixed. His sister, his blood, a murderer and yet he always had to kill the feeling of guilt every time he was leaving her in that hell of a place. Mycroft after all, did have this superman complex. 

"I wouldn´t have come if it wasn´t serious" he took a deep breath, yes she was going to enjoy it.   
"serious" she laughed" serious, serious, serious" she repeated the words, tasting every letter of it.   
"so what is it? a serious illness? no, no, you wouldn´t bother to come unless it was leukemia or something like a kidney failure maybe? but mummy would certainly take care of her favourite boy, wouldn´t she? oh, you know how she always prefered him over us. her curly-haired pretty boy, the sweetness itself. so nothing like an accident or an illness. maybe..... he is lost, isn´t he? he is lost and you cannot tell anyone except me....." another burt of laughter "little brother causing trouble! oh, I like that. you are such a gem, Myke, thanks goodness for you! but you know, you gotta give me a bit more than that, don´t you, dear?" 

It wasn´t that Euros could sense people, but when Mycroft´s brain fell, hers always knew the ways, not because of IQ, but because while Mycroft had little emotions, she had zero. A psychopath to the bone, she could not feel pain, physically or mentally. They always had to be careful even as kids, because while others would stop due to their reflexes she had no idea what pain was, put her in the boiling water and she would recognize it only by her skin. It was a curse rather than a blessing and same could be said about her emotional intelligence, where her intellect was higher than the majority, her empathy was missing and that gave her strenght, she was more logical than a machine if that was ever possible, but Mycroft liked to think that way. 

And then he said it "possible depression, drugs, Cambridge, chemistry"   
and she knew it as if she could have pictured it, as if she was Sherlock himself. The streets, the books, the stress, the endless trying to fit in. She was there with him, she could see him sitting in the dark laboratory, alone, watching his classmates, wishing he was "that normal" and then in an outburst of a sudden idea he was working, working and working until his head fell on the desk and he fell asleep with the colourful harmless liquids running out around him. 

"and you wonder where the little lonely brother is now? oh Mycroft, I have thought you are slow, but not stupid. Sherly has always been such a cry-baby. The poor lonley boy, left by everyone, no friends, no girlfriends, no mummy, no daddy, no big brother" she smiled. 

No big brother. Mycroft loved his family more than everything, but it was partly out of duty (when it came to the majority of them) and partly because he, perhaps, was capable of feelings after all. Mycroft loved Sherlock because he saw the little boy break down in front of him and he could never ever save him again. After Viktor died Sherlock wasn´t that happy child anymore. He was bright, amazing, intelligent but not happy, funny kid as he used to be. Any humour, any gentleness was gone. And Mycroft promised himself he would never do that again, he would never allow Sherlock Holmes heart to be broken again. And yet here he was, 24, already having a career, already having a name on his own. He left when his brother was 11 and rarely turned back. How could he? 

"Big brother, Mycroft" she repeated and he understood. 

A revenge, he would be hiding somewhere near Diogenes Club. Somewhere where Mycroft would have never bothered to look, just under his nose. 

And she was right, in a den, across the street, somewhere between old Victorian buildings, where rats were having feasts and Jack the Rippers were planning their murders (or at least it reminded Mycroft of those times) his brother was lying in his own vomit, pale, barely breathing, smelly and disgusting. 

"How many days would I have to wait" he said with a Sherlock-smirk on his face. 

"Oh Sherlock"


End file.
